Riley turned four back in November. Shortly after that, he had his annual checkup at the doctor, and it was my task to take him over and have him looked over. We’d been prepping him for a week or two; talking about vaccinations, watching the relevant kids TV on the topic, reading the books on how your body works. He was both interested in and at ease with the idea, even though he thought he might be scared.
Finally the day arrived to visit the doctor. Riley and I both remained positive throughout the process. The doctor was friendly. She talked about the vaccinations that he was due for, and everyone was ok with that. She asked about some optional ones, since we were there and they were recommended. She asked about our recent trip out of the country and explained that Riley should have a TB shot, too. Riley was calm, only slightly apprehensive, and was happy to agree to getting the shots and being healthy.
The doctor left after she finished her inspection, we thought to get the injection that we had both been anticipating. It turns out what happened was much worse.
After a few anxious moments, a woman we’d never seen before came rushing in, hurriedly. She had some assistant with her. She quickly instructed Riley to lay on the papered bed in the office, which he did, not even reluctantly. She told me that I would need to reassure him, which I expected, and hold him down, which I did not expect at all.
Suddenly, she started uncapping a series of tubes and injecting them into both of his legs. After the first, I had to hold Riley down to the table to keep him from screaming. This woman, whoever she was, was not gentle, was not reassuring, and was not Riley’s doctor. Her assistant held his feet, while she kept sticking him with needles, 8 in all.
Afterward, Riley was a quivering mess. She packed her things and left with her assistant. I had to coax Riley out from under the bed where he had crawled when we could finally let him go. His little wavering voice screaming hatred in the most vile words he could think of – he didn’t even have the vocabulary to add the appropriate venom to his expression of violation.
It seems almost unreasonable of me at this point to document my mental state. My poor little boy, abused by some unknown nurse. Led by me and his mom to believe that this was all for his own good; that it would keep him healthy So trusting was he, he allowed us to get him to a place where he could be held down and injected. And I helped. I helped more than just holding him down because he trusted me, and I convinced him to trust the doctor.
Perhaps this was for his own good. Really, after my own experiences with doctors and dentists, I don’t know how I can even say that. I should have known better.
So what brought this story back to mind? We found a tick on Riley last night.
The protocol for tick removal is tweezers. I don’t know if you’ve ever removed a tick with tweezers but it’s not a fun business, especially when the tick has a good hold. There’s a lot of room for error, and of course, with a kid shocked by being convinced to trust you and then suddenly almost pulling his arm off with the tick, that error is bound to occur.
Anyway, I got most of the tick, but there was still part left. And after fighting with him to get him to let us get that last part out, and repeated pleas not to “hurt my poor little arm”, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t just hold him down and get it. Not this time.
But I still know. I know am a parent who can hold his kid down if I think it’s for his own good. And I know that it hurts me, too.
